May 092012

It’s the sort of ritual that’s been established without words. We’ve never spoken of it, but it’s expected. When he comes to me, I make sure he’s ready for me in a way that ensures my comfort and shows respect for the time and effort I’m about to invest in him.

When he’s inspected, he is very still, soft, and pliant. Only his eyes follow me–he won’t move unless he’s told. I touch his face with my fingertips, stroking softly in places and pulling and tugging in others. He must be absolutely clean-shaven and smooth–any roughness irritates my sensitive skin.

I brush my lips against his throat, running the tip of my tongue from the base of his neck to the beautiful tender spot just below his ear. I stop there and breathe him in. He’s not permitted to wear any scent–I want nothing more than the scent of his clean skin.

I check for tension in his shoulders. I’ve found that when he’s relaxed, it’s easy to finesse him into that lovely headspace where he mumbles and rambles and begs, that blurry place where the world has fallen away and he sees nothing but me. When he’s loose, it’s quick work to manipulate his body and his mind.

With his face between my palms, I use my thumbs to pull his eyes open wide–both top and bottom lids. I look for evidence of angry blood vessels, for any sign that he’s had alcohol. He isn’t permitted to drink without my permission. It’s not that I care if his mind is a little compromised, but I enjoy compromising him myself, controlling his headspace with my words, my actions, or if I choose, by holding his mouth open and dripping vodka from my mouth into his.

I pry his jaw open to check his mouth. I tug on his lower lip to expose his bottom teeth, then push up his top lip to inspect his upper teeth. He’s asked to stick out his tongue for examination, so I can be sure it’s fresh and pink and perfect for me.

If I’m unsatisfied with his grooming, if he’s lucky, he’ll be told to excuse himself and take care of it. If he’s unlucky, he’ll be shaved (the straight razor scares him). If I’m very displeased by his carelessness, he’ll be led to the bathroom like a little child so I can wash his face and brush his teeth myself.


  7 Responses to “inspection”

  1. I used a straight razor myself for a while, I'd be real nervous about letting anyone else near my jugular with one.

  2. In the right hands, straight razors are nothing to fear… unless I'm in a mood, of course…

  3. I did my first inspection last night :-) certainly not the last. I found tobacco in his hair. He had to stay on the balcony, naked, kneeling like Nakhtorheb a while longer than planned as a result :-)

    • @Elsie: Tobacco? Does he smoke? Weird… even if he does, wonder how it go into his hair.

      You know, actually, a couple of weeks ago I found a cigarette box wrapper in my dryer. Odd… neither one of us smoke. At least, I think he doesn’t!

      • He rolls his own cigarettes. He exclusively smokes on the balcony. He moved the furniture on the balcony before the inspection & I suspect he picked some up on his fingertips off the table & it transferred to his hair. It was 3 tiny flecks but it was something to note & given the fact that it was the first inspection it was nice to have something to find ;-)

 Leave a Reply